What have I done?
by DeangirlSam1212
Summary: Warning:Death fic This obviously is from "When the Levee Breaks" Yea, something happens after the fight that leaves Sam regretful and depressed.


This is a story that has been bouncing around in my head for WEEKS and I mean WEEKS. So I decided I needed some relief.

"No."

"Say it."

Dean looked sadly at his baby brother.

I have tried so hard to keep you safe and to make sure you don't make mistakes that will make you hate yourself. Tried. I tried.

But why did you do this to yourself?

Why did you do this to me?

"It means you're a monster," a single tear followed his words.

Words which he would soon regret letting cross his mind.

Sam's mind grew hot and loud with unbearable anger.

Unable to control it he threw is hardest punch right in Dean's face, which sent him flying to the floor.

He slowly made his way back up to standing.

Gazing back at Sam with such sad, lost, and exhausted eyes.

But Sam didn't care.

He was just getting started.

A look of betrayal flickered across Dean's face and his fist came for payback.

And another.

And another.

Madness strengthened Dean as he sent Sam across the room with another punch.

Sam quickly grabbed Dean's shirt and jabbed him in the face.

Dean hit the mirror and his heart shattered along with it.

What are we doing?

Sam flipped him over and he landed on the ground with a thump.

I'm sorry.

It was quiet for a few minutes.

Is it over?

Please let it be over.

Oh, how wrong could he be?

As he looked to the side Dean suddenly felt warmth appear around his neck.

And not the loving kind.

The deadly.

Sam's visage was smeared with death and murder.

Sam no.

Is finger got tighter and tighter.

He gasped desperately for air.

Dean gazed up at the ceiling.

He knew.

There was no sign of regret in Sam's eyes.

He knew.

Sam's nostrils flared and his eyes lit and narrowed determinedly.

He knew.

The noose made of fingers around his neck got tighter still.

The lights grew dimmer and dimmer and darkness crouded his gaze

And clouds danced across his vision.

Then he let go.

What is there to live for now?

Sam's gone.

And I'll be waiting.

He knew this was the end.

But he didn't think Sam did.

But he knew.

Then he faded away…

Sam looked down at Dean.

His hand covered his neck.

Squeezing, choking, burning.

His older brother's head rolled back limply.

His pulse slowly stopped.

Sam withdrew his hand.

He smirked in satisfaction.

And realized what he just did.

Sam's grin dropped into a frown of grief and disbelief.

"Dean."

He didn't even flinch.

"Dean?"

His voice rose into a squeak.

"Dean, no. Please no. Dean!"

He cried, tears falling freely down his cheek.

"DEAN! DON'T LET ME BE THE CAUSE OF YOUR DEATH! DEAN PLEASE. OH, GOD. WHAT HAVE I DONE?"

He screamed and broke off into sobs.

"Dean." Sam's voice shook and he remembered that voice.

The tone, the melancholy, the quivering.

It was the one when the Hellhounds tore his brother and his heart to pieces.

Then he stopped.

He stopped crying,

he stopped speaking,

he stopped worrying.

Pulling out his phone he pressed Bobby's contact.

"Boy! Where have you been? We've…"

"Dean's dead," Sam interrupted emotionlessly, so unlike what he felt inside.

"Sam… I'm so sorry…What happened?" Bobby asked, Sam could practically hear the tears in his voice.

"I killed him," and with that he hung up with a snap.

With a shaky hand he pulled out the gun tucked in his jacket.

And through blurry eyes he stared at it.

I don't deserve to go so easily.

So he got up and walked to the closet and took one of the hangers made of wire and bent it to ensure his death.

I should go as he did.

But he would never even think of doing what I did.

And I can't even imagine dieing at Dean's hands.

Because it was impossible.

And at that moment he suddenly realized what the look in Dean's eyes ment that Halloween.

It was fear.

It was acceptation.

Because he knew.

He knew it was the end.

His end.

Sam stepped in the closet and slid the door closed.

Taking the stool and stood in the middle of the space and stepped to the top.

Making his head pierce through the open gap in the middle.

His head following the hanger as he hung the hook on the rack.

His hair brushing the bar.

"I'm sorry Dean," he whispered and kicked the stool to the side and let the night take him.

Yea, so kind of sad. And I don't really have anything to say about it.

Love reviews and love you who write them.


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